My Faked Death, His Endless Torment

I was dying from a mysterious illness, but my family, including my fiancé King, dismissed me as a drama queen. At my adopted sister Isabel' s promotion party, my body finally gave out and I collapsed, coughing up blood.

Instead of helping, King accused me of ruining Isabel's big night. He tore up my terminal diagnosis report right in front of me, sneering that I'd do anything for attention.

Completely broken, I annulled our engagement and fled to a rundown motel to die alone. But Isabel found me. With a triumphant smile, she confessed everything-she had been slowly poisoning me for years, a plot to steal my health, my family's love, and King himself.

She had no idea her entire monstrous confession was being recorded by a device left in the room.

I sent that audio file to everyone and, with the help of a kind stranger, faked my own death. Years later, I had a new life, a new name, and a quiet peace I never thought possible. Then one day, a broken, haunted man walked into my seaside café, clutching a faded photo of me.

It was King.

Chapter 1

Ela Campbell POV:

The bitter taste of blood filled my mouth, metallic and coppery, a familiar prelude to what was coming. I was dying. A slow, agonizing decay from within, but no one believed me. Not my parents, who saw only a fragile burden. Not my fiancé, King, who now stood over me, his powerful frame radiating a cold fury that chilled me more than the fever gripping my bones.

"What in the hell do you think you're doing, Ela?" King's voice was a low growl, vibrating through the plush carpet of the ballroom. His hand, usually so firm and warm, clamped around my wrist with bruising force. "Are you trying to ruin Isabel's night? Her promotion is a huge deal."

I tried to pull away, but his grip was iron. My head swam, the opulent chandelier above spinning into a blurry halo. The scent of champagne and expensive perfume, once intoxicating, now made my stomach churn.

Then, a soft, concerned voice drifted to us. "King, darling, is everything alright? Oh, Ela, what happened? You look… unwell."

Isabel. Always the picture of perfect concern, her blonde hair shimmering under the lights, her blue eyes wide and innocent. She wore a dress the color of ice, a stark contrast to the dark circles under my own eyes, a testament to sleepless nights wracked with pain. She looked like an angel, and I, a shadow.

King' s gaze softened for a fleeting second as it met Isabel' s. "She's just being dramatic, Isabel. You know how she is." He turned back to me, his eyes hardening. "This is your sister's moment, Ela. You couldn't even manage to be happy for her, could you? Always finding a way to make it about you."

A sharp pain shot through my chest, not from my illness, but from the raw injustice of his words. It was Isabel' s promotion to VP, a celebration I had barely managed to drag myself to. My parents, Johnie and Clarissa, beamed from across the room, their faces alight with pride for their perfect adopted daughter. They had postponed a crucial board meeting, a meeting that would have discussed my failing health, just for this.

Before I could form a response, the world tilted. My knees buckled. King, instead of catching me, instinctively pulled his hand away. I hit the marble floor with a thud, the impact jarring my already fragile body. A searing pain shot up my arm as I tried to brace myself. My vision blurred.

I lay there for a moment, the cold marble seeping into my skin. It was Isabel' s promotion. Of course. The biggest night of her career, and I was once again the problem. The thought was a dull ache beneath the sharp physical pain. My parents had told me just this morning, in their clipped, impatient tones, that my doctor' s appointment could wait. Isabel' s success was paramount. My life, it seemed, was secondary to her triumphs.

I bit back a sob, tasting more blood. This wasn't the first time my pleas for help had been met with dismissal. For years, I' d tried to explain the crushing fatigue, the constant aches, the dizzy spells. Each time, I was met with eye-rolls, hushed whispers of "attention-seeking," or King's cold, dismissive glares. I tried to suppress the wave of nausea, the burning in my throat.

It was too late. A violent cough wracked my body, tearing through my chest. My hand flew to my mouth, but it wasn't enough. When I pulled it away, scarlet stained my fingertips.

The silence that followed was deafening. King' s eyes, which moments ago had been filled with anger, now held a flicker of something else-disbelief? Concern?

"I… I'm sick, King," I whispered, my voice hoarse, a desperate plea. "The doctor said it's serious. I need to get out of here. I can't breathe."

His gaze dropped to the blood on my hand. For a split second, I saw a shadow of the old King, the one who used to worry when I caught a simple cold. My heart fluttered with a fragile, foolish hope.

But then, Isabel was there, her hand fluttering to her chest. "Oh, Ela, my poor sister. You really shouldn't work yourself up so much. You know how sensitive you are. Perhaps it's just a little anxiety attack from all the excitement?" Her voice was laced with saccharine sweetness, but her eyes, when they briefly met mine, held a glint of triumph.

My mother, Clarissa, who had finally made her way over, looked down at me with an expression of barely concealed irritation. "Ela, darling, must you always be so dramatic? Isabel is right. You're fine. You just want attention, don't you?" Her words were a familiar blade, twisting in an old wound.

King' s face hardened again, the brief flicker of doubt vanishing. "Are you listening to this, Ela? Look at the scene you're causing. You always do this. It's always about you, isn't it? You're ruining everything." His voice was low, menacing. He leaned closer, his breath hot against my ear. "If you don't pick yourself up right now, I swear, I will drag you out of here myself."

Isabel, with a soft whimper, buried her face in my mother' s shoulder. "It's okay, Mama. I understand. Ela just needs a lie-down. I shouldn't have wished for this promotion so hard if it upset her." She sniffled, her performance flawless. "It's all my fault."

My parents, of course, rushed to comfort her. "Nonsense, sweetie," my father, Johnie, murmured, patting her back. "You deserve all of this and more. Ela is just… being Ela. Don't let her spoil your happiness." They spoke as if I wasn't even there, a ghost haunting their perfect family tableau.

I watched them, the once warm cocoon of family affection now completely wrapped around Isabel. My parents, who had once patiently taught me to ride a bike, who had praised my childish drawings, now looked at me with thinly veiled disdain. Isabel, who had been adopted when I was ten, had seamlessly replaced me as the cherished daughter. Every achievement of hers was celebrated, every struggle of mine dismissed.

A strange calm began to settle over me. Death, it seemed, was not a frightening end, but a quiet escape. A release from this constant, suffocating disappointment.

Another cough, this one deeper, more violent. More blood. It splattered onto the pristine white marble floor, a stark, ugly contrast to the glittering shoes and silk gowns around us.

King' s eyes narrowed, a muscle twitching in his jaw. "What is this, Ela? More theatrics?" He bent down, snatching a crumpled paper from my hand, the medical report I' d been clutching. He unfolded it with an impatient flick. His eyes scanned the words, his face devoid of emotion. "Terminal diagnosis? Chronic poisoning? This is ridiculous. Another one of your games, trying to get out of our contract?" He let out a harsh laugh, a sound that tore through me. "Unbelievable. You'll do anything for attention, won't you?"

Then, with a contemptuous sneer, he ripped the paper in half, then again, the sound echoing in the sudden silence of the ballroom. The shredded pieces fluttered to the floor like fallen snowflakes, each one a shard of my last hope.

I stared at him, my heart a hollow space in my chest. I remembered a time, long ago, when his eyes held warmth, when he' d look at me with tenderness, a flash of shared laughter. Now, they were cold, distant, filled only with contempt. That King was gone, replaced by this cruel stranger.

I pushed myself up, using the nearest pillar for support. "King," I said, my voice surprisingly steady despite the tremor in my hands. "I need you to call the family lawyer. I want to annul our engagement contract tonight. No delays."

His head snapped up, his eyes blazing. "Annul the contract? Are you insane, Ela? After everything we've built? After the merger? You think you can just walk away?" He took a step towards me, his intention clear.

"Yes," I said, meeting his furious gaze. "I can. And I will." He opened his mouth to retort, but I turned my back on him then, my gaze sweeping over the faces of my stunned parents and Isabel, who watched with a mixture of feigned alarm and genuine glee. I had nothing left to lose. King could shout all he wanted. It no longer mattered.

"Let's go, Isabel," King snarled, his voice a furious whisper. "This farce is over." He grabbed Isabel's arm, pulling her away from her crying mother. "We have an image to maintain." He didn't even glance back at me as he strode out, Isabel clinging to his arm, casting a triumphant look over her shoulder. The ballroom doors swung shut, leaving me utterly alone amidst the lingering scent of their perfect, poisoned world.